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The Lynol security guard stops me. “Excuse me, sir, I need to check the list. Can I see your ID?”
I pull it out. I’m in lawyer mode in case I’m not allowed through the gate.
“Ah, right here, Farmer, party of three. We have two already here. You’re the last, I reckon.”
Now I’m one step closer to Xan. As I park where an attendant has motioned, I find my brother’s truck several spots ahead. My poor ma. She’s had to endure so much loss, and not only that, her heart is probably still working through the emotions of possibly losing me when I had gone missing last month.
I notice my family immediately, and I squeeze in next to my brother as my mother sits in a chair in front of us. It’s a small affair by Lynol standards, and so far, around a hundred guests are in attendance. She pushes from her seat and reaches for me as we embrace. “Sweet boy. I can’t believe you came all this way for me. But I love you for it.”
A pang of guilt hits me. I would have come regardless of my budding feelings for Xan, or at least I hope I would have.
“Ma, I’m so sorry. So very sorry.” I extend my hand to my brother, and he shakes it. He’s a saint, holding down the farm and being the constant in Ma’s life.
She takes her seat, and I keep my hand on her shoulder. “Have you spoken to Xan?” she asks, turning her head slightly toward me.
The question strikes me a little odd. “What?” I try to feign shock.
“You two were stuck in a cabin for days together and didn’t kill one another. I’d hoped you two would become friends.”
My ma is sneaky, and I wonder if she’s digging for something. I could never keep a secret from her for long.
“We don’t hate each other anymore, if that’s what you’re asking?”
She doesn’t press, and the music begins before I wonder what she knows. It’s a hymn I’ve sung on Sunday morning several times when Ma would drag me to church, claiming I needed a spiritual upbringing, too.
I expect Xan to come down the aisle, but he appears in front of the coffins, greeting the officiant and shaking his hand. He takes a seat in the front row by himself. Both sets of his grandparents are deceased, and his mother and father were only children.
He’s all alone. Or I think that until a familiar man sits beside him. It takes me a second to place him, and when Xan turns, he takes the guy I remember as David into his arms.
This day isn’t about me, and I can’t comfort him in public like his old boyfriend can, but it still hurts.
The service is short, as Xan gets up to talk about his mother. Anyone who knew Lyle immediately understood his strained relationship with his son. Still, Xan barely mentions his father during the eulogy.
After the officiant ends the service, we’re all invited to the house for a reception. I turn to Ma, who looks like she’s about to fall over. “Ma, why don’t we get you home.”
“Clarkston Jackson Farmer, that woman was my best friend. I owe it to her to check on Xander and make sure he knows he always has a home with us, especially now that your stupid feud has ended.”
I lend her a slight smirk. “Yes, ma’am.” I learned long ago there’s no use in arguing with my ma. And she knows it. To my knowledge, he’s not seen me, but I find myself wanting to hold him. But that would take away from what today is, and it’s honoring Liz and even the piece of shit, Lyle.
We’re instructed to drive back to the house as we’re a couple of miles away from the central estate. I’m curious what he’ll do with his family home and land now that it’s his.
As we approach his home, Ma is the first out of the truck, probably making herself at home in the kitchen, and it’s where she feels most comfortable being a help to someone.
I wait for a beat, opening the truck door, and sit where our mother had been seated. JJ must know I have questions. “So, tell me the truth, how’s Ma?”
My brother has always been more like Dad, a man of few words. “What can I say? She’s lost.” He shrugs his shoulders and rakes his hand through his hair, showing the stress of the last two days. “But somehow she’s more worried about you than she is with just having lost her best friend.”
“Why?” I ask, and I should know better.
“I reckon she thinks y’all are friends now. It’s my guess anyway.”
“We arefriends.” And so much more, but that last bit I say in my head.
“If you say so.” My brother opens the door and exits the truck but waits for me to get my wits about me. Do they know more? Though, there is a better time to press.
“Are you heading back tonight?” he asks, looking around, waiting for me to catch up.
“No, I’m here until Sunday night. Need help around the farm? Go ahead and use me.”
